


Best-Laid Plans

by JerseyGirl



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Anal Play, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Confusion, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Freakout, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Massage, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl/pseuds/JerseyGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So. Drop Danny off. Watch to see that he was happy rather than pissed off. Then wait ‘til he was done and party like a sonofabitch. That was Steve’s plan, anyway. Funny thing about plans, though. Even the best-laid ones don’t always go quite the way you intended…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best-Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> My first Steve and Danny slash fic. Comments and concrit welcome!

**BEST-LAID PLANS**

Steve knew precisely what gift would make his partner the happiest on his fortieth birthday. Or at least he _hoped_ he knew.

He'd heard about this massage place in Hilo from Marie, a girl he'd had a fling with for a while (but unfortunately found out had a penchant for sleeping with anything that had two legs…male _or_ female). Once he'd checked into it and found out her description of their 'special massages' was definitely legitimate, he'd realized it was no real surprise _she_ would know about it.

As far as Steve knew, he was the only one of their _ohana_ who was aware that Danny…like Marie…swung both ways. And while he and the team member he was closest to had shot the shit about their various exploits with women throughout the years plenty of times, the one thing Steve _didn't_ know was how often…or even _if_ …Danny had actually slept with another man. The confession that he was attracted to them had come during a night spent draining a bottle of Jack Daniels after a case that involved kidnapped kids. But the subject of whether Danny had actually fucked a guy – or the other way around – had never presented itself, so Steve had no freakin' clue.

So when he looked at the gift certificate in his hands good for a two-hour massage at one specific Body Talk Massage & Therapy Parlor, he knew that if his partner hadn't yet, he was going to definitely lose that side of his virginity day after tomorrow. And if he had already crossed that bridge, well…at least he'd have some unexpected fun.

Steve had already decided he was going to stick around at _least_ long enough to make sure it looked like Danny was enjoying the very special massage that Steve had paid quite well for him to receive. Then he'd just let the appointment run its course and be waiting outside to take Danny out for a night on the town afterwards.

The most he expected was to tease Danny good-naturedly about being loose-limbed and overly relaxed as they hit their favorite bars all over Honolulu. Well, okay, he was a little curious about the rest of it, too, but doubted whether Danny would give up too many details of the, uh…massage. Still, he was prepared to have a damn good time with the whole thing, and with any luck maybe he'd find someone to take back to his bed that night. Lord knew it'd been long enough since he'd gotten laid and it didn't look like Catherine's ship was coming anywhere near the Pacific for a good, long while.

Dammit.

So. Drop Danny off. Watch to see that he was happy rather than pissed off. Then wait 'til he was done and party like a sonofabitch. That was Steve's plan, anyway. Funny thing about plans, though. Even the best-laid ones don't always go quite the way you intended…

* * *

The confused look on Danny's face was worthy of a quickly snapped photo courtesy of his Smartphone as Steve pulled into the Parlor's parking lot, put the truck in Park and shut off the engine. Danny blinked and looked at him. "Did you just take a picture of me? And what the hell are we doing here?"

Steve smirked. "Just come inside with me."

Danny dutifully got out of the truck, Steve knowing it was nothing more than his insatiable curiosity urging him to obey the command. "I thought we were going to Shooters. You never said anything about a massage."

"Oh, didn't I?" Steve asked, twelve shades of innocence layering his voice. He reached into the back pocket of his blue jeans and pulled out the gift certificate, unfolded it and held it up, pretending to squint at the writing on the front. "Huh. Guess it must be fate, then." He handed the certificate to Danny, put his hand on the glass front door of the two-story building, and pushed it open.

Danny stood rooted to the spot as if the words on the certificate were a little too much for his brain to process. "You got me a massage for my birthday?"

"And now we know why you're such a successful detective," Steve quipped, using his left hand to not-so-gently herd Danny into the establishment.

Both men assessed their surroundings. Danny's inspection of the room and the young lady behind the tall counter were borne of way too many years as a suspicious Jersey cop. Steve's gaze was leveled with a more critical military eye, although even he had to admit privately to appreciating the muted Earthy colors and the bamboo forest painted onto the entirety of the reception area's wall space. A floor-to-ceiling kinetic fountain completed the atmosphere with the soothing trickle of water, while gentle piano strains seemed to come from nowhere.

Danny looked down at the certificate, then up at the smiling girl behind the desk. Probably late twenties, blonde hair cut in a short pixie style, and large brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

"Hello, Gentlemen, and welcome to Body Talk. I'm Eden," she said in a soft and welcoming voice. "How may I help you this afternoon?"

Danny just stood there, to the point where Steve was ready to slap him with the label Big Lug (okay, Danny had used that one on _him_ a couple of times and he kind of liked it, all right?) and forget about the whole thing. But dammit, he'd paid for the massage, and he'd convinced Danny that a night out on the town was perfectly appropriate for a man turning forty, so he was _not_ going to let Danny's sudden lapse into indecisive unsure _haole_ change his well-laid plan one iota.

Which was how he found himself grabbing Danny's arm and steering him up to stand at the counter. "It's his fortieth birthday," Steve said, grabbing the certificate from Danny's hand and giving it to Eden. Which, all things considered, described her well, he concluded, as he observed everything below the neck. "I got him this."

Eden's lips curved upward in a knowing smile. "Happy Birthday," she said to Danny, who seemed to have regained some of the finer motor skills when he smiled in return and thanked her. She looked down at her screen. "Ah, yes, you have an appointment with Patrick."

"I have no idea what he's getting me into here," Danny stated, and Steve chuckled.

"Well, I can tell you, sir, that this will be the best massage you've ever had. In fact, you might be asking your friend here to get you another certificate before you leave."

Danny's right eyebrow shot up. "That good, huh?"

She nodded and winked.

Danny's cheekbones got a little pink, and Steve knew his partner's brain hadn't gone quite as dead as he'd been letting on. Danny suspected _something_ was up, but Steve doubted he'd glommed onto precisely what that was at this point.

"And you, sir?" Eden asked of Steve as she tapped on her touch-screen computer. "Will you be enjoying our amenities while your friend's getting his massage?"

"No, I'll just wait out here," Steve said amiably. _Especially if you'll be here the whole time_ , he added silently. "You go on ahead, Danny, and enjoy."

Danny smiled bemusedly at him. "Okay. Thanks."

With that, Eden led Danny through the door behind and to the right of the reception desk. Steve leaned against the counter, his mind working real hard at bringing forth the charm Danny made sure he always knew never worked on him. Steve couldn't rightly name what exactly it was that made the charm happen, but he hoped he had it right for when Eden returned.

Five minutes later, she emerged from the door alone and took her seat behind the desk. "First time here?" she asked conversationally as she tapped away on her screen. "You're Steve, right?"

"Bingo," he said with an easy smile, eyes locking with hers. He leaned over the desk conspiratorially. "Listen, I, uh...I know it's probably against policy, but this is the first time he's ever been to one of these, and…" He let his voice trail off and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I just want to make sure he's, uh…you know, that he's okay with exactly what he's getting here."

Eden's eyebrows went up. "But he signed a consent form. I have it on file here in my system. Danny Winson, everything was emailed over ten days ago. How can he not know what he's getting from this appointment?"

Steve blushed. "Well, I didn't exactly _tell_ him…you know, about the, uh…add-ons." His mind went back to when he'd shoved the consent form in with a stack of final report logs that needed Danny's signature, waited until his partner had blindly scrawled where he needed to on all ten of the forms after a thirteen-hour day, and then deftly removed the one for Body Talk from the stack before handing the whole stack off to Chin Ho to parcel out to the right departments. Luckily the way Danny wrote Williams was so scrawled and more of a bumpy straight line than anything, that it passed easily enough for the false last name he'd given the booking agent.

"Sir, this isn't funny! If Mr. Winson doesn't want what he's about to get, and he signed this consent form under false pretenses-!"

"No, no, it's okay. Trust me," Steve said, voice dropping an octave. "He really will be okay with it, I promise. He's, uh…we're together. You know?" Steve shot her a look that dared her to disbelieve. "I just…want to be there to make sure, is all. And on the very _very_ slim chance that he's not okay, to step in and take the blame. Body Talk won't get into any trouble either way." Steve smiled at her and watched her seem to melt right in front of him. "So where can I go to watch, that he won't know I'm there?"

Eden seemed quite happy to play along, but he could still see a hint of concern in those big brown eyes of hers. "What time do you get out of here?" he asked, trying for a redirect.

Flustered, she looked down at her computer screen. "You said you—were…with Mr. Winson," she stammered. "Come with me." Color splotched high on her cheeks, she scooted out from behind the counter and opened the door to the back, gesturing for Steve to go through. "But please, be quiet, okay?"

Steve grinned, then mimed zipping his lips shut and followed her down the hall to a doorway at the end of it. "Our soundproof rooms for the special massages are on the second floor," she whispered as she opened it. "Danny is booked into the first room. You'll see the companion room door just beyond his room's main door, but be as quiet as you can. The rooms _are_ soundproofed, but if you don't close the door carefully, the vibration makes a humming sound on the two-way glass."

Two-way glass? Companion room? Oh, heck, this was going to be _way_ easier than he'd anticipated. "Got it," he said, flashing her a grin. "Thanks, Eden."

She leveled her gaze at him. "How come the ones like you are always gay?" she asked.

Steve opened his mouth to protest…but it was his own fault, saying that he and Danny were 'together.' He was afraid she would stop the whole damn thing if she thought otherwise, so he just winked at her, resigned himself to the fact that it wouldn't be Eden coming back to his bed tonight, and made his way up the carpet-covered staircase to the second floor.

So far, his plan was going pretty damn well. Now to give it a good five or ten minutes to make sure Danny wasn't going to hop off the massage table and kill first the masseur and then Steve…then he'd make his way back to the reception area to apologize to Eden before heading out to the truck to wait.

* * *

Ten minutes later and still it was nothing more than your regular, everyday, ordinary massage. Steve kicked back on the left side of the full-sized couch that practically filled the entire companion room. There was no sound, just a six-foot wide by four-foot high two-way mirror through which he'd been watching Danny, lying face-up on the massage room's table, with what he presumed was a hot, wet washcloth over his forehead and eyes and a towel covering his groin, getting first his back muscles and then his neck, arms, hands and fingers worked on.

Damn, if it didn't looking relaxing as hell. And damn if Steve wasn't thinking about going back downstairs and asking Eden for a regular massage for himself. Lord knew in spite of the yoga he engaged in regularly, nothing helped a guy in his business more than having his muscles kneaded into the consistency of raw pizza dough.

He knew his partner well enough to know that Danny was most definitely relaxed, and it wasn't a state Steve often saw him in. He wondered what kind of music was playing inside the room, if it was the same soft piano that had filtered through the reception area. Other than the massage table and the somewhat overly muscled man giving Danny the massage, the only thing present was a high dresser with eight drawers and a flat top. It wasn't any more than two feet wide and one foot deep, made out of some sort of old wood by the look of it.

Given that he knew just what Patrick – the dark-haired, dark-eyed masseur – was going to be doing eventually with his partner on that table, Steve could take a pretty good guess at what lay hidden inside those dresser drawers.

Patrick finally finished with Danny's arms and ghosted his hand lightly over the thick, dark hair covering Danny's entire chest, then laid his hand palm-flat over Danny's sternum. His back was to the mirror, so Steve didn't know if he was speaking, but he saw Danny's lips moving as though responding to something the masseur had said.

Removing the wet cloth from Danny's eyes, Patrick chucked it to the floor in one corner of the room. Danny's eyes remained closed and Patrick's left hand, still on Danny's chest, moved slowly across his left pec, stopping just short of his nipple. Steve's eyes widened and he sat forward on the couch, eyes glued to Patrick's thumb and forefinger, which reached out, brushed across Danny's nipple three times, then took it and pinched it gently.

Danny's lips parted.

Then Patrick's hand moved across to the other pec, where he mirrored his actions, gently rubbing across the nipple and then taking it in his fingers and squeezing. Danny's mouth remained open. The large hand moved in a straight line from Danny's chest to his belly button, fingers bumping along the well-defined abs, sliding effortlessly through the considerable amount of hair his short, hairy partner seemed to have everywhere.

Patrick's hand moved lower.

And lower.

Steve's mouth went dry the moment Patrick picked the white towel up and tossed it over to the same corner as he had the washcloth. Because the state of Danny's cock left no question as to whether or not Patrick's advances were welcome.

Dusky, thick, purple-headed, it seemed like it already wanted to explode lying heavy against Danny's stomach. Patrick positioned himself on the opposite side of the table from Steve and put one hand flat on each of Danny's hipbones, pressing down and then sliding along either side of his groin to his thighs, where he stopped and seemed to be resuming a normal massage.

He kneaded Danny's right thigh muscle, worked his way down to the kneecap where he tapped and seemed to be rubbing along the outer edge of it. Then his hand moved over Danny's shin to his foot, which he slicked up with massage oil and proceed to loosen up to the point where Danny was doing a very good imitation of a boneless mass of flesh.

All except for his cock, which couldn't stop twitching with every touch of Patrick's fingers to his toes or soles.

Danny's feet, it seemed, were erogenous zones. Who knew?

Steve didn't. Shouldn't. Had no intention of knowing anything like that. And his mouth was dry.

 _Real_ dry.

He looked to the left and saw a small water cooler with a stack of paper cups. He grabbed a cup. Filled it. Drank it. Filled it again. Drank it. Filled it again…Christ, he'd have to pee soon if he kept this up. He crumpled the cup in his hand and tossed it into the tiny wastebasket next to the water cooler, telling himself he'd seen enough to know that Danny wasn't going to be angry for what Steve had gotten him into.

Right.

So he didn't need to stay.

Uh-huh.

No reason to stick around and watch.

Um…

So why were his eyes now riveted to his partner's face as Patrick moved to Danny's other leg to begin the process all over again?

Uh…

Steve swallowed hard, eyes moving from Danny's slack jaw down his neck, lazily dancing across his chest from left to right and top to bottom before noting every dip and rise of his six-pack…which was, at that very moment, being invaded by a raging hard-on.

Suddenly Steve's jeans felt a little tight. His eyes widened. He looked down at the front of himself, then back up as Patrick finished with Danny's foot and laid his leg gently back down on the table covered by a white sheet.

No fucking way…he couldn't be…what the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

Patrick must've said something else, back once more to Steve, because Danny's lips moved in response. Steve couldn't see what the masseur was doing, but damn if Danny's body didn't arch up off the table, mouth wide, eyes flying open, looking for all the world like he might be gasping or moaning or choking to death or maybe all three.

The palms of Steve's hands _itched_ with the need to know.

He turned around and leaned his right arm against the wall, hanging his head and realizing he was breathing far too heavily for a straight guy who was watching his bisexual work partner get a massage.

Not just _any_ massage, his brain reminded him.

But this was. It. It was. Christ Almighty, it was _Danny_. Part of his brain registered that he wouldn't really be worried about a Big Gay Freakout if the guy whose reactions to stimulations were turning him on wasn't his very _bi partner_.

And that's not what this was. A Big Gay Freakout, that was. It was a Big...Partner Freakout, because it was…oh, God.

Steve reached down and jammed the butt of his hand against the huge bulge straining against the front of his jeans. Okay. Okay. Not a big deal. Just…it was sex. He was a guy. That's all it was. Sure. It was just…seeing someone else get touched in a way that was making them feel as good as—

He turned his head to look back through the mirror.

Holy _shit_.

Patrick was now _facing_ the mirror, leaving absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination about what he was doing to Danny. And that consisted of his entire left hand moving slowly up Danny's not-inconsequential shaft, thumb swirling around the pre-cum glistening at the head, and sliding back down. But that wasn't what got Steve's attention.

It was the way Patrick had to hold Danny's hips down, muscles straining to keep his pelvis still while Danny's back bowed and his chin pointed at the ceiling and he very _obviously_ was making noise if the working of throat muscles that Steve could see under the taut skin of his neck was any indication.

Steve couldn't help the low moan that escaped his throat as Patrick flicked his wrist right when he reached the top of Danny's cock and so much pre-cum spurted out that it began running down the smooth, domed head immediately. It caught in the webbing between Patrick's thumb and forefinger, then Patrick looked up at the mirror, directly into Steve's eyes somehow, as though he could actually _see_ him, and Steve froze.

 _Could_ Patrick see him? For that matter, if Danny turned this way, could _he_? Patrick's hand moved up and down, up and down Danny's rigid cock and on the next upswing he dug the very tip of his thumb into the slit. Danny very nearly vaulted off the table, held down only by Patrick's strong forearm.

Yep. Steve was definitely panting now. Hard. And his cock was aching, aching in a way he couldn't remember it having ached before. Jesus, what did he _want_? What was it that was turning him on so much? Seeing Danny _not_ in control of a situation for a change, maybe? Not running off at the mouth with some rant or other against Steve's sanity?

Or was it more than that?

Seeing bliss on his partner's face? Seeing him turned on? Seeing his cock harder than Steve knew he'd personally ever seen it, though he had to admit he'd not been privy to too many Williams hard-ons in his time knowing the man?

Patrick leaned down and said something in Danny's ear. With great difficulty, especially considering that fact that his cock wasn't quite aware it was now meant to be calm for a minute, Danny rolled himself over so he was face-down, Patrick gently urging his head into the face doughnut he'd attached to the end of the table, then arranging Danny's arms so they were straight along his body.

And then, without any sort of worry about working shoulder muscles, back muscles or leg muscles first, Patrick went to stand at the foot of the massage table, leaned forward, and placed both his hands palm-flat on Danny's ass, one on each cheek.

No, Steve couldn't see Danny's face anymore, but he could see every inch of his backside from not-so-much-coiffed-anymore-hairdo to feet, and he saw something he'd never witnessed before: Danny _trembling_. He would attribute it to fear, but Patrick was anything but menacing and thus far had been nothing but gentle, if not firm, in his actions.

He would attribute it to Danny being in an unfamiliar situation, and that _could_ be the case, for all he knew. This _could_ be the first time any man had ever touched Danny this way, in the way a woman would…but not even, not really. Because in all of his own forty years, Steve had _never_ been with a woman who'd done… _that_.

Patrick was squeezing and pressing down on Danny's ass, large hands practically covering each cheek, thumbs sliding nearer and nearer his puckered hole – which Steve could not see – even as Danny's right hand clenched and unclenched reflexively – which Steve _could_ see. Then the masseur reached down with his right hand and pumped liquid from the bottle on his belt into his palm. He raised the other hand and rubbed them together.

And went in for the kill.

One single solitary finger began at the very tip-top of Danny's crack, halfway between the dimples that formed the tips of the Y above his cheeks. Slowly that finger moved down…down…and with every millimeter of movement, Steve found himself less and less able to breathe.

Down.

Down.

Then he parted Danny's ass, handfuls of pliable flesh, and he leaned forward and flicked the tip of his tongue out. It disappeared to where Steve could not see and Danny jerked, hips bucking backwards, whole body like an instantaneous, unified muscle spasm. Patrick returned to standing upright, a smile on his face, and his finger disappeared into the crack again, this time clearly working itself around and around Danny's asshole.

Steve's hands moved up to the glass, his face so close he was steaming it up. His eyes were riveted to the shuddering muscles of his partner's back, the minute bucking of his hips, desperate for friction on the front, wanting so badly to thrust onto the finger that for now, was only teasing someplace he clearly wanted it to go.

And when Patrick's finger pushed in for the first time, when Danny's entire body went rigid, taut, an entire quivering mass of loud-mouthed Jersey five-foot-five, Steve _wanted_.

 _He_ wanted to be the one exploring his partner's compact, muscular body. Running his hand from the knob of Danny's spine down and down and down to the curve of his ass, into that crack, further down until he was pressing his finger in – oh, _God_ – just like that.

He wanted to be the one whose mouth was against Danny's left ass cheek, whose teeth were gently nipping at the flesh, whose hand was running up the inside of his partner's thigh and stroking his perineum.

Steve couldn't hear what was going on in there, but he could _feel_ Danny's guttural moan.

Then he realized it'd been _his_ moan.

Steve lowered his forehead to the glass of the two-way mirror, eyes fluttering closed.

He wasn't gay.

He never had been.

He'd never looked at a man and _wanted_.

And this, his _work_ partner…his best goddamn _friend_ , you didn't…it just wasn't…and he was _Navy_ and Danny was…

Danny was bi.

What was Steve, if not straight as an arrow?

He forced himself to open his eyes and _look_.

Patrick's hands pushed from the small of Danny's back up either side of his spine, pushing so hard it seemed like he might shove Danny right off the table head-first. But he didn't, and Danny's hips seemed to be moving of their own volition, trying to rub his erection into the table below him even as Patrick's hands didn't allow for any leverage to do so.

Steve cupped his own bulge through the unforgiving material of his jeans. The one goddamn time he'd worn _jeans_.

Patrick's finger was back inside Danny's ass.

Steve gripped himself harder.

Patrick had just slid a second finger in, Danny pushing back so hard Patrick had to use his other hand to steady him by grabbing his hip.

Steve _stared_ as Patrick quickly inserted _three_ fingers into Danny's hole.

This time he knew the moan was his own. Steve also knew the thing his gut was telling him to do was a monumentally Bad Idea.

A monumentally stupidly ridiculously horrible idea that would come to no good.

Except that was the thinking that his upstairs brain was doing, and his upstairs brain was pretty well fucked in terms of blood supply at this point.

Before he could ask himself another question as to his own sexual orientation or how hard Danny would punch him out or precisely how many rants _and_ right hooks he'd have to endure in the aftermath, Steve raced across to the companion room door, opened it, and shut it quietly behind him.

He hesitated only a fraction of a second before twisting the knob of Room #1's main door. It swung slowly open.

Patrick looked up.

He smiled at Steve knowingly. Way _too_ knowingly, but before Steve could lose what little gumption he'd managed to scrounge up to get in the door, Danny moaned _sinfully_.

When Steve's cock jumped in response, he knew he was fucked. And so might his friendship and partnership be, but…fuck.

Because…

"Steve," came the sighed exhalation.

Steve's eyes widened, then darted up to Patrick, who was still sliding his three fingers slowly in and out of Danny's ass. Danny's ass that was laid bare right in front of him there, just…his for the taking.

For the _taking_.

He swallowed hard. From seemingly nowhere, Patrick produced a small notepad and pencil. He used the flat top of the tall dresser as a table and scribbled something quietly, then lifted the notepad and showed it to him.

_You Steve?_

Steve nodded.

Patrick wrote something again as Danny writhed on the table. The table that Steve was decidedly Not Looking At.

_He asked if he could call me that._

Realization hit Steve like a ton of bricks, but all he could do was swallow convulsively even as the Not Looking At thing crumbled to pieces and his eyes raked over Danny's body from head to toes, stopping only long enough to see Patrick's three slicked-up fingers pumping Danny a little harder now.

"Oh, _God_ …Steve…"

Steve's eyes snapped back up to where Patrick was showing him another note.

_Your turn._

A moment of panic swept through Steve, but Patrick just raised his eyebrows with that all-too-knowing look on his face, and gestured at Steve's body.

Which Steve looked down at.

Patrick grabbed the hem of his own muscle shirt, gestured back at Steve.

Oh, fuck. Oh, Danny was going to hate him. Hate him, hate him, _hate_ him.

"Steve, _please_ …"

Or maybe not.

Okay, fuck it.

Fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it.

Just…fuck it.

Steve had stripped in three seconds flat from slippers to jeans to tee shirt. Just like that Patrick was holding out a hand full of massage oil. Or lube. Or whatever the fuck it was.

Just like that, Patrick was beckoning him forward.

Just like that, Patrick was withdrawing his fingers from Danny's ass and guiding the first three fingers of Steve's right hand to slowly take their place.

Thing of it was, Steve wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

Oh, he was no idiot, of course he like every other red-blood American military man had plenty of theoretical knowledge when it came to man-sex. He just didn't know what to do now that his _fingers_ were in Danny's _ass_ for the love of all that was—

"Fuck me, Steve."

That was a demand. A typical Danny demand.

Only _not_ so typical.

He couldn't just…he couldn't let Danny think he was fucking some stranger. He _couldn't_. Besides, if he…if he really and truly wanted Steve, and Christ, what other conclusion could Steve draw here? If he did, if he wanted…but what did Steve want and…what about Cath and…oh, _God_ , he was so so so _fucked_.

"Steven."

Steve's head whipped up.

Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

Danny's torso was raised off the table, and he was twisted around looking directly into his partner's eyes.

All the color drained from Steve's face as he removed his fingers slowly from his partner's tight hole.

_Oh, shit._

But Danny was…what was…he was _smiling_?

"You didn't have to go to all this expense just to get this," Danny said a little too coherently, gesturing expansively at the entirety of his person.

"I didn't—this wasn't—but I—" Steve spluttered, then realized something very important to Danny quite possibly not believing his argument.

He was standing there buck naked from the top of his head right on down to his toes. While Danny was similarly unclothed and with an erection the size of…oh. Looked like Steve had one of those, too.

A painfully _hard_ one.

All at once Danny was sitting up on the edge of the massage table, cock obviously not having any trouble still being as turned on as it was when Patrick had held it firmly in hand.

"Steve? You gonna freak out on me?"

Steve was way past freaking out. He'd already freaked out, had a coronary, followed it with acute apoplexy and was back to waiting for a punch to the jaw.

But the touch that came wasn't that of fist to face. It was a firm grip on his own hard length that made him puff out a breath of air, eyes closing reflexively, as Danny took him in hand. "Come on, babe," Danny urged, hand moving faster and faster.

Steve's hands came out and gripped Danny's shoulders, eyes flying open. "S'okay, Steve," Danny breathed as their eyes locked. "S'okay."

Fire filled his lower belly as every sensation rushed south until the only thing he was feeling was Danny's hand pumping him like he was born to do it and before Steve could even gather a coherent thought together his body was going rigid, his jaw was dropping and white fireworks were exploding behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut against the onslaught of _everything_ attacking him.

The low moan that filled the air came from his own throat.

The higher-pitched whine as Steve's come shot all over his partner's abs and cock came from Danny.

Steve's eyes snapped open even as his hips continued to jerk, as Danny squeezed every last drop of come from the tip of his cock. Danny's face was flushed, lips parted and swollen like he'd been biting them.

No more thought. No more reasoning. No more questioning.

Steve's hands moved from Danny's shoulders to the back of his head and suddenly he was crushing those lips with his own, tongue plunging into the depths of Danny's hot mouth, feeling Danny's groan of pleasure vibrate through his entire body cavity as he pulled his partner fully against him.

He was kissing his partner.

He was kissing _Danny_.

And nothing around them exploded.

Nobody rushed in with guns drawn.

The world didn't end.

And Steve, when he felt Danny's poor desperately leaking cock press painfully into his hipbone, pulled away just enough to get his hand firmly around that cock.

Whether Danny squeaked or not, whether he yelped or not, whether he sounded like a sinfully good porno flick wrapped up in one tightly wound Jersey package or not was irrelevant. Because to Steve it sounded like the best thing he'd ever heard, and he continued pumping him as he swallowed Danny's sounds, his moans, his cry of release, sucking every tiny noise out of Danny's mouth that he could even as his hand jacked his partner thoroughly dry.

Their lips parted with an audible pop. Danny slumped forward into him, forehead landing at the hollow of Steve's throat. Steve turned his head, laying his cheek atop Danny's admittedly wild-looking hair. He released Danny's cock. Danny hissed and sighed, arms wrapping solidly around Steve's back, hands palm-flat atop the sheen of sweat over his spine.

Steve hesitated for only a fraction of a second before he wrapped his arms around his partner in return.

"Best. Birthday. Ever," Danny breathed into his chest.

Steve huffed out a laugh. "Wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Danny leaned back just enough to force Steve to make eye contact with him and raised one eyebrow. "Well, it was exactly what I wished for," he said, voice uncharacteristically gentle. Quiet.

Steve felt his face heat up and suddenly all his thoughts from before came crashing into his mind like a gigantic North Shore wave. Catherine. _Rachel_. Gabby. _Grace_. Chin. _Malia_. Stan. _Kamekona_. Kono. _Governor Denning_. Partners. _Work_. Five-0. He groaned, and this time it wasn't from being turned on.

"I never thought I'd say this, Steven," Danny said with a very serious look on his face, "but you're thinking too much."

"This is a…it's just… _Danny_." Steve was at a loss. Thing was, he didn't _want_ it to stop. Not now. Not after what he'd seen, not after having this weird epiphany that he was…what, Danny-sexual?

"Then we'll keep it just between us, babe. 'Kay?"

Steve looked into Danny's eyes. He was still scared shitless, a fact he would only admit to in the privacy of his own mind…but which he suspected from the look on Danny's face his partner damn well knew already.

So he nodded. And he used a corner of the massage table sheet to wipe the come off himself as Danny did the same.

They put their clothes back on without a word.

" _Now_ can we go to Shooters?" Danny asked as they stepped toward the door.

Steve wanted…he…he wanted…he didn't know what he wanted other than…he felt his face flush again. "Only if you come home with me after," he said so quietly he wondered if Danny could even hear him.

"Deal, partner," Danny said with a dazzling smile.

Steve put his arm around Danny's shoulders as they walked through the door. "Happy Birthday, Danno."

Danny wrapped his arm around Steve's back and squeezed.

And Steve thought well, maybe they were headed for the most epic clusterfuck of all-time. Who could say?

But maybe, just maybe, the best-laid plans of mice and men go awry for a _reason_.


End file.
